


Endless Moments 5: Despair

by FayJay



Series: Endless Moments [5]
Category: Firefly, The Sandman
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-10
Updated: 2009-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FayJay/pseuds/FayJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mal Reynolds experiences a paradigm shift</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endless Moments 5: Despair

It feels like having his throat severed by a blade so impossibly sharp that for a long, long instant the arteries don't realise their integrity is gone, and the blood continues to flow down its normal path. It feels like missing a step in the dark, and realising, all of a sudden, that one is in the wrong house. It feels like looking at one of those freaky images from Earth That Was, where you realise, all of a sudden, that the black lizards crawling on a white floor are actually white lizards crawling on a black floor. It feels like being gut shot. Like losing his Ma.

There's the shock, the stomach-churning instant of recognition, the fulcrum, and then – then the flood of bitter horror as the world shifts around him, and he understands how badly he has erred.

This is – he doesn't believe it, is the thing, even though his eyes are telling him, even though his ears are telling him, even though he can smell the blood and the stink of shit where a man's just been shot down in front of him. Too pretty to die. Oh, it's a joke, of course, always been a joke, but he's still always believed it. Believed God was looking out for him, believed his prayers were heard and weighed, and that when he threw himself crazy-reckless into danger, dragging Zoe along behind him, that he was somehow _protected_. That it couldn't happen to him. Not really. He's just playing, and he's special, after all. His Ma always said so – and although he knows that's what mothers say, apparently on some level he believed it anyway. He's big and strong and true of heart, he's a hero, all the girls tell him so. And he laughs at that, and jokes about it, but deep down he knows that he's an honourable man, and his cause is just. He knows that he has integrity in the very bones of him, and he's sharp enough to see that this is not true of everyone.

Sure, other people lose, other people die in stupid, pointless ways – but it could never happen to him.

They must all think that. It must be such a surprise, when they realise they ain't nothing special after all. He thought he was better'n that, wiser'n that. Thought he wasn't some wet-behind-the-ears cadet, full of dumb ideals. Thought he knew what he was doing. Thought that, underneath the bravado and the seat-of-the-pants heroics, he was still pretty smart. Still taking calculated risks, not simply throwing himself into danger. Thought he had someone up there on his side.

He's been a fool. He's been walking around with blinders on this whole time, pretending the world is other than it is. Pretending there's a God looking out for them, high-falutin' generals looking out for them; pretending that there's somebody, somewhere, who gives a shit about 'fair' and 'just' and 'rewards'. Somebody who'll notice how hard he tries, how bright he shines, and do right by him and his.

There's nobody.

There's just people, stupid people, ordinary people placing their trust in priests and in no-good sons of bitches in uniforms, and getting screwed over for their trouble. Getting shot down where they stand, no matter how young, no matter how brave, no matter how pretty.

Mal Reynolds looks out at the glittering lights over Serenity Valley, and listens to the sound of gunfire and dying soldiers, and his heart feels like someone has pierced it with a dozen fishhooks and is tearing it into pieces while he breathes.

There is no rescue. No cavalry. No God. There is nothing for a man to have faith in but the strength in his own two hands, and the friend who's got his back.

His mama's crucifix slips out of Mal's fingers and falls into the mess of blood and shit spreading out from the soldier who lies dying at his feet.


End file.
